My Lips Are Sealed
Bob says we’re not going to talk about this book while we’re writing it.
So forget the demons, the succubus, the pizza delivery hooker, Dreamland, Albert, Mary Imogen, Ethan, Screamland, and any anything else you’ve already read on either of our blogs. Wipe it from your mind.
I already have.
Oh, and my notes were perfect. Some of Bob’s ideas were . . . well, you know. Pizza delivery hooker demon. I’m here to save him from himself.
Yeah, that hooker thing will be so 5 minutes ago by the time the book comes out.
Ahh, but a pizza delivery hooker succubus/demon? I kinda see why he’d want to write about that…
Of course, he also wants a voice recorder on his iPhone, so maybe I’m giving him too much credit with the pdhs/d.
Huh. I wonder if those are common. I’ve been feeling odd ever since my pizza was delivered an hour ago…
RfP, that’s just indigestion. Dr. Slave Driver says drink two bottles of wine and call me in the morning. Better yet, call Bob. On his new iPhone. Make an iCall.
I think I wrote that pizza delivery hooker demon story about 15 yrs ago while under the influence of we won’t discuss what… nobody else was supposed to stumble down that same regrettably dark path. What’s in the snow in Ohio?
The only thing in the snow in Ohio is charm, seems like. And small dogs. With reproachful expressions.
Down here, the pizza delivery guys are out to save our souls, not suck them.
No problem wiping my mind. Happens every night as I sleep, which is why I have my own name tattooed on my left wrist.
Book? What book? You write books? I thought this was a home repair blog. Who is this Bob guy you keep talking about?
(we all know the quality of soul a pizza delivery hooker demon would bring home)
I thought this was an iPizza/iPorn delivery blog. About Ohio. And little dogs.
Just don’t eat any foamy pizza.
Okay, we’re sworn to silence. But, if you need any beta readers at any time, I volunteer!
Hmmm, pizza is sounding better all the time. Cute guy, strange shaped pupils - who cares.
Not talk about the book while you’re writing it? Geez. What a buzz kill.
What happens when you need tag line ideas, slogans, opinions on names for creatures in the book-we-aren’t-talking-about.
Bob will be back.
They always come back.
You know, that pizza delivery hooker idea might not be far off. Down here in most of the Florida Keys, there aren’t street corners for hookers to hang out on. They probably need other ways to connect with customers.
iHookers…I see a new trend in marketing…touch screen, plug-ins…the options are endless…Slave Driver is galloping off to trade mark “iHookers”
uh huh. Of course we thought he was kidding about the stripper nun, too. Nope, this time I’m keeping an open mind. If there’s anything else you two aren’t talking about, let us know. We’re here for you.
I’m still thinking up monsters. There’s the old reliable Mullygrubs and her cousin The Creeping Crud, but I saw a new one today, just out of the corner of my eye, and you know how it goes, when you turn your head to look at it, there’s nothing there, but intuition told me this monster was The Vague. When I saw it, it was skulking around trying to elude the Nagging Doubt, on the back of whose head lives the Doubting Nag. Somebody bet on the Nag.
Here’s a suite of “domestic” monsters.
The under-bed variety
- Bug-eyed, tentacled
- Drooling
The lurking-in-kitchen-cupboard variety:
- The croque-mitaine (the bogie man used to scare children into good behavior)
- Not to be confused with the croque-monsieur (a ham and cheese sandwich)
So forget the demons, the succubus, the pizza delivery hooker. Wipe it from your mind
These are the 3 biggies.AFAIAC. And you want them gone from my nind ? I don’t think so.
Okay, I’ll try and forget about The Book That Shall Not Be Named, but, dammit!-now all I can think about is ordering pizza-and I’m not even hungry! I don’t even care if I get a pizza delivery hooker. (PDH? Like a P.h.D., but not.)
does he have an iPod? he can get a little voice gizmo for that…not quite as good as having it all in one but close : )
And consider all mention of pizza delivery hooker succubi deleted.
Oh, dear. It’s morning, the time when thoughts come unbidden.
Where is Jenny?
Look at the clues:
She got into a car with a guy who admits to being alien-abducted 14 times, and who has a new iPhone with who knows what 28-digit numbers programmed into it, and they “follow a star”–a star that Jenny can not see. Then one short communication from her, then . . . nothing.
They’re not looking for demons, no, nothing so innocent. They’re on board the Mother Ship, communing with the Home World through their iPhones.
Hey, waffles!
Actually, the idea of a pizza delivery demon makes a lot of sense:
Scenario #1:
Knock! Knock!
“Who’s there?”
“Demon!”
“Go away, or I’ll call Sarah Michelle Gellar!”
Scenario #2:
Knock! Knock!
“Who’s there?”
“Pizza!”
“Oh, goodie! Let me just unlock the door and I’ll… EEEYYAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!“
And, while I can’t testify to the existence of a Pizza Delivery Hooker, I once went to a bachelor party where I learned the Official Underwear of a Pizza Delivery Person is G-string and pasties.
LtL: that’s ok. it’s really just for research.
Pizza delivery hooker - wasn’t that a Patrick Dempsey movie ‘Loverboy’.
Yay! We have a Bruce. No, we have Bruce A.
It is kind of like a dead teenager movie, isn’t it?
Aliens and demons and wraiths, oh my!
Of course, Dorothy was only 12 at the time, and thus ineligible for murder in the attic, or a myspace page.
OK, so don’t blog about Wild Ride, but that other book, Wild Rice–you can blog about that one.
I’m sure it has a hooFer–maybe it’s a guy in a tux like Fred Astaire–who delivers organic healthy casseroles and salads that won’t spike your blood sugar.
You know, stealth health. Now that’s scary.
We’re home. Or at least I am. I take Bob to the airport in about three hours. We’ve been together too long. We’re staring at each other like, “Who are you again?” We both want to get back to work, not be polite to each other. We’re not chatters. And there’s not enough time to get into the book again. Without work, we are nothing.
So sad.
But thank you to the Lehigh Valley Romance Writers for thanking me for hauling Bob’s butt to PA. He NEVER thanks me. Sigh.
Calming breaths.
Hot tea & a couple of ginger snaps.
Lapful of furbabies.
Rejoicement over the progress of D&G as well as the book that can’t be named.
Opera Babes.
All is well.
I like the idea of a carpenter incubus - or maybe a pool boy incubus. Seducing lonely housewives in suburbia. Ooh, or a masseuse incubus. (I’m putting too much thought into this, aren’t I?)
On the other hand, maybe a hotel run by incubi, so that they can scope out the potential prey.
Ok, I’ll stop now.